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RPlog:Narrow Escape
Simon Of average height and fair coloring, the young man before you has dark brown hair and eyes of a color somewhere between blue and gray. His hair is parted and cut short. His eyes are deep-set, looking more ready to draw his brow into a deep frown than a warm smile. For facial hair he wears a well groomed goatee and mustache, trimmed short and of the same deep color as the rest of his hair. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: intense. The man before you is dressed in earth tones. Light tan, loose fitting trousers are tucked into soft leather boots that come up to just under his knees, and are tied tight with brown, leather chords. Tucked into the top of his pants is a simple shirt of a matching color. Over this is a loose wool tunic of dark brown, covering his arms completely and hanging down below his waste. It's comfortable clothing, suitable for most climates and cultures. Strapped diagnolly across his chest and back is what appears to be some sort of harness. It's worn in the way some people wear a bandolier, yet there is nothing attached to the device. A long shaft of cylinder rises over his left shoulder, a rod sheathed where some warriors sling their sword. Currently, the man's hood is pulled up, concealing his face in shadows. With his back bowed slightly, either from a heavy weight or old age, it's difficult to tell the man's age. He might not even be human. Jessalyn The composure of this young human woman is probably the most striking thing about her. Though otherwise unassuming, her expression is one of surprising coherence and calm, belied only by the slightly mischievous gleam in her leaf green eyes. Shining dark red hair falls in unruly silken waves down to the middle of her back, framing her wide cheekbones and smooth, pale skin not as fragile as most redheads'. She is wearing a loose, cream-colored tunic made out of some light material, scooping low beneath her startlingly white throat and showing off a thin silver chain set with a rough but shiny blue-green stone that rests just below her collarbone. The tunic is belted at her narrow waist and the full sleeves end just above her pale slender wrists. She wears a pair of tight, dark brown pants tucked into knee-high black leather boots, both complementing the best pair of legs in ten parsecs. Drew Tall, leggy, blonde, Drew seems at a first glance. She is still young, somewhere mid to late twenties, and stands somewhere around 5'10". Her honey blonde, wavy hair usually seems wind-blown and frames her face in shoulder-length layers. Her bedroom eyes are of a grayish, peridot green, her skin is a peachy tan, and her nose is freckled. She has the kind of body an athlete would have, good shoulders, coltish legs, a narrow waist. Her cheeks have a constant blush to them, much like some who live in cold weather; her nose seems to have been broken sometime, it is a tad long and slightly hooked. She wears a standard spacer's outfit. Loose brown pants reinforced at the knee with darker leather, tucked into soft ankle boots, and a light blue, stretchy shirt under a a tan vest. Her hair is braided at the back of her head, Alderaanian-style. Karrde Calculation has many guises, from the narrowing of eyes in sharp thought to the greed of a credits lender tallying interest rates. The guise of it in this man is difficult for the average being to define. He is tall and slender, not muscular or intimidating by mere brawn, with an economy of movement that hints at some calculation of how close his hand is to his blaster, or where he's standing in relation to his environment. Dark hair, worn a tad long and streaked a little at the temples with silver, compliments a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache to give an overall impression of care in appearance, another calculation in the visual. His voice, more often than not, is carefully modulated on the calmer ends of sardonic, wry or amused. But the eyes are the window to the soul, and this human's are of an ice blue, sometimes diamond hard, sometimes affecting disinterest, but the seat of the motives of the whole rests behind them. Intelligence sparks there, ambition burns alongside it, and awareness guides both as surely as a swordsman facing opponents in shadow and in light. He is dressed somewhat dashingly, an odd contrast to the quiet calm of his manner. Dark slate gray pants tuck into high boots, and a black vest, full at the sides, is worn over a matching dark gray shirt with full long sleeves. Orson This stocky human male stands at only about five feet, thick arms, chest and fingers making up somewhat for his diminutive height. Dark hair is kept in a utility-conscious style, clipped short to his round skull - prominent specks of white hair pepper the sides. A too thick brow and angled face help the impression of heaviness about the figure; the face is complete with a broad nose and large square teeth that appear to be just a little crooked when his wry smile reveals them. Small folds of skin around his eyes and mouth indicate more years than his vigorous face would otherwise show. A heavy jacket of gray-black coarse fur resembling mohair hangs on his broad shoulders, fastened halfway up his chest. A black shirt of simple material is visible beneath the jacket. A thick and heavily starched pair of dark trousers billow so much that it's hard to determine the individual pant legs, deep pleats making it look like a large billowing skirt. A strange half-boot lends support to his toe and heel, but leaves the tops of his feet exposed like a sandal. A copper-colored ring encircles his head with a dark round unfaceted jewel set over his forehead. A narrow crossbar angles out to either side from the crown, looking almost like antennae except they support a tiny row of fine chains and dangling costume jewels. Valak A handsome, average sized human -- clad all in black. His features have begun to show the signs of age. His eye sockets have started to display what is commonly known as 'crow's feet' wrinkles. His once soft features have begun to harden. Even his black hair is beginning to lighten, showing grey strands upon close inspection. His hair is still well styled just the same, even his thinly sculpted sideburns which terminate by his earlobes, and the well trimmed goatee that circles his mouth and wraps just under his chin. Cast around his neck, covering his shoulders and hanging to the floor is a long, black cape made of a fine silk-like material. Under the cape is a double-breasted, collarless tunic worn with a military like fit. His tunic is tucked into a fine pair of pants, which show just a sign of bagginess to them. His waist is cinched together with a thin belt, buckled with a unique golden colored buckle. His pants terminate at a pair of well-shined, leather shoes. The scene: On board Orson's ship, the _Uwannabuyim_ , which is docked on Asteroid Kappa. *************** Standing outside the ship was somewhat better than remaining within the confines of the steel bulkheads, but still felt confining to the one called Simon Sezirok. He had already made a few jaunts into the populated areas of the Asteroid colony, but the last one had left him a little edgy. The man operating the fruit stand had watched Simon too closely. Heaving a sigh, Simon turns and begins climbing the ramp leading back into the bowels of the ship. The fresh air was nice, but it still could be problematic if the wrong type of person landed and saw him standing idle. Such as, the Bounty Hunter type. Orson is hunched over the datastation on the Uwannabuyim, training like a man preparing for some great athletic contest. His short hair is a little disheveled, his face puffy, and his eyes positively locked on screens of scrolling data at the unit. Orson has a precarious perch, tilted strangely backwards in his chair with his feet on the console. He's reading. "Hi," the mechanic offers without looking back, choosing instead to focus on Simon's distorted reflection in the viewscreen. "You're back, good. I need to talk with you." With that, he reaches forward and presses something. The scrolling material begins to slow, then moves to an organic trickle. If it's not the game system, it's some other type of screen with these people. Don't they see how they are enslaved to technology? The grimness of the thought paints a dark mood across Simon's countenance as he closes the distance between he and Orson, staring into the eyes of the distorted reflection of Orson. He puts his right hand behind Orson, in case the man's balanced perch should slip and make him tumble. It wouldn't do to have the pilot break his head. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" Simon asks, his slurring, sing-song accent as thick as ever. He continues, "If you are having a problem with this ship, I can not help you with it." Orson kicks off from the console and lets his feet hit the deck heavily. "Oh no," he says with a grin, sincerely entertained by that comment. "Nothing like that." Orson moves and turns his seat to face the man more directly. "A few things. I'm preparing for a meeting soon - one that I'm not looking forward to, and I thought you might be able to give me some advice." The mechanic-pilot massages his hands together, wringing them white. "I'm turning myself in, to the Empire, because Morganna saw us together on Corellia." He stops there and gauges the Selas for a reaction. At first, the Selas appears to be puzzled. Orson was saying something very close to what Simon himself had recently offered to Karrde. What puzzled Simon was the depth of this fellow he'd not seen. There was hidden strength within him that he could sense, but he didn't know there was honor as well. Enough to sacrifice himself for the good of the others. He opens his mouth to say something about this, then stops and his expression changes completely. His eyes widen, then narrow to dark slits. He turns his head toward the still open hatch leading out of the ship, and a startled sigh escapes his lips. With a voice full of as much shock as has ever been in his voice, Simon says, "The Emperor is here." At almost the same moment that Simon's attention is diverted to the open hatch, Jessalyn's silhouette fills the cockpit doorway. Her eyes are wide in her very pale face as they flicker between the others in the corridor and the hatch. She leans one hand against the doorframe as the other one reaches reflexively for a lightsaber that is no longer there. "Force help us," she whispers. "Is there any chance we can take off before he has time to react?" "Huh?" Orson is not attuned to the True Source or the Force, and the abruptness of the statement, much less its content, leaves him behind still thinking about truth serums, interrogation droids and unpleasant meetings. He follows Simon's gaze to the boarding ramp and stares at the passageway. With this news, it would seem like a long time, but only a couple of seconds have passed. "We're leaving," he pronounces suddenly, sitting up and making for the ramp. Emperor or not, nothing major had come into the system, or the Asteroid of Thieves would be in a frenzy now. Which meant no capital ships, at least not yet. Close the ramp, then start the ship, and fly off. Simple as that. It's all laid out in the man's head, and he strides to the entrance. "No..." Simon says, distracted. He holds up a hand to Orson to signal him to stop and continues, "I... don't think we can run this time." Of course, he can't say why, other than a vision in his mind of the ship held, as if by a god's hand, crushed like an egg shell by a mighty grip. It could be a vision of the future wrought by the True Source, or it could be some sort of projection from the Emperor himself in his search. Whichever it was, he didn't think they could outrun this dangerous predator, this time. 4500 COORD A6: Karrde, Karrde, this is Orson *Pause* Simon says the Emperor is here. Do you copy? Do you copy that? On the asteroid ... 4500 COORD A1: This is Karrde. Yes, confirmed, Valak is here in the hangar bay. Please ask our guests what they propose to do about the situation, and if they need help. Perhaps the same premonition comes over Jessalyn, for she frowns, her spine as straight and rigid as an arrow as she waves her hand toward Orson. "He's right, there's no use. He could stop us dead in our tracks, quite literally." The memory of her last encounter with the Emperor makes her blood run cold, and she's forced to call on all her training to bring a measure of calm. The thought of Valak getting his hands on Simon is not at all pleasant, either, and she breathes deeply as she bites down on her lip. "Maybe you should both stay here. You don't know what he can do." With that she starts toward the hatch, pausing only to pick up a blaster stored on a shelf near the door. It's not exactly a Jedi's weapon, but it's better than the vibro-knife she has in her pocket. Orson keeps walking to the entrance. He looks over his shoulder at Simon, scowling, hardly trusting in a vision that he cannot see. "It's better than waiting around," he refutes with an exasperated huff, beating Jessalyn to the door controls and slapping at the big red button. The ramp shivers, the pneumatics coming alive at an excruciatingly slow pace. The mechanic watches it, considering that a quick-snap open and close boarding ramp would be a good modification to this ship in the future. Between Jessalyn and Simon both predicting their doom he is apparently prevented from making a run to the cockpit, however, and he digs a black cylinder from his jacket, speaking into it quickly. "Karrde, Karrde, this is Orson," he says, leaning over to look through the gaping entranceway. "Simon says the Emperor is here. Do you copy? Do you copy that? On the asteroid ..." He lowers the comlink and skitters past Jessalyn, back to the datastation, jabbing at buttons. The information! The information will never be taken alive. With that in progress, he speaks at his comlink again in hurried, muffled tones. 4500 COORD A1: Ah, Orson, I think the Emperor is going to carve the ship up with a lightsaber. Status? 4500 COORD A6: *pause* No one seems to want to leave except me. 4500 COORD A1: Karrde sounds annoyed. "Ask Simon if he feels the inside of the ship is tactically good for this, please." The ship is suddleny jostled, and is moved around by something unseen. Those on board who can feel it, sense the strength of Valak's touch. His Darkness enveloping the ship from the outside. The ships' movement is enough to jostle the occupants. The feeling of danger continues to fill Simon's extended senses, seeming to overshadow all other sensations. Drawing a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever might happen, he reaches over his shoulder to grasp the exposed portion of the shaft his own weapon. Seeing Jessalyn grab for the blaster, he shakes his head. Blasters were generally useless against Simon, and immense feeling of the dark, angry power eminating from the Emperor more than eclipses Simon's strength. As if sharing his thought, Mira steps up from where she had been cowering and thrusts her lightsaber in Jessalyn's direction with a forced, "Here!" before darting toward the back of the ship. She was probably the wisest of them all. Then the ship shakes, and Simon nearly loses his footing. Grabbing a bulkhead for stability, he waits until he can move on his own accord and does so... throwing himself bodily through the still closing hatch. 4500 COORD A1: Karrde says, sounding stunned, "...Orson, he just tossed and caught the ship with a gesture. Status...?" Not that he thinks Orson didn't realize it when the ship rocked and dropped like it did, but, well, he's stating the obvious. As the ship is suddenly rocked from side to side, Jessalyn staggers to keep her footing, swearing under her breath. But her eyes light up at the appearance of Mira, and with the aid of the Force, the saber flies into her waiting hands. It only takes her a split second to clip the hilt to her belt, and then she's diving down the ramp on Simon's heels, her hair flying wildly behind her. Orson would look comical in a different set of circumstances. He in his outlandish clothing, jumping around and completely caught by surprise of the movement of the ship. He throws his hands in the air, still clutching the comlink and stumbles forward, falling into the padded wall opposite the datastation, which has now gone dark. He pushes up and stands upright. "Ok, that settles it," he says, tripping toward the cockpit but not leaving the room. "We're leaving." He's in denial, but determined. "Do you think this is the best place for a standoff?," the mechanic asks the empty room. His second-favorite ship doesn't need any extra lightsaber slices in it. Simon departs the ship. Jessalyn departs the ship. Hangar Bay - Asteroid Kappa The erratic outline of the asteroid breaks and envelops a tremendous cavern, which abruptly flattens out into an obviously man-made room, which is very well lit, due to the many blazing lights on the cavern ceiling and walls. The floor is covered in a smooth tarmac, upon which rests several starships. A few pilots are walking back and forth between the vessels, some carrying tools. To the north a large tunnel leads deeper into the heart of the asteroid. In the midst of the _Uwannabuyim_ flopping about like a child's toy that's been kicked in a tantrum fit, the one called Simon Sezirok comes flying out of the closing boarding ramp, his body and arms spread in front of him horizontal and nearly parallel with the ground. He drops rapidly, and just before belly flopping, he tucks and rolls, saumersaulting twice before leaping to his feet. A silver and black rod is in his hand, his still extinguished lightstaff. Even before he turns and looks, there is a double snap-hiss as he ignites his weapon, and he pivots on the ball of his feet to turn and face the source of all the chaos and mayhem. Simon is closely followed by Jessalyn, whose dive barely beats the closing ramp, and she tumbles purposefully down to the tarmac, landing in a crouch to the side of the tall Selas, and pulling the other half of Simon's lightstaff from her belt. She turns in tandem with him, seeing Emperor Valak poised with his lightsaber beneath the ship, and brandishes the hilt in her hand. It feels odd, not her own sword at all, but she's grateful for it nonetheless, and she gazes fiercely at Emperor, her green eyes blazing a challenge. Orson appears in the outrigged cockpit of the Uwannabuyim, slapping at the console in an attempt to move the vessel through her preflight startup while at the same time trying to hang on for dear life. It's only a moment and the throaty whine of the ship coming to life reverberates through the hangar bay, the YT-1300 squeaking madly on its landing struts as it is forcibly moved about. Orson disappears and then returns in the window, pressing his face to the transparisteel and beating on it with his free hand. He must be howling, but whatever he's saying is completely inaudible. He's got some sort of bulky pistol in his other hand, trained on the soon-to-be combat from his poor angle. It's times like this that Karrde is perfectly content ot be an observer. Seeing Orson 'safe' in the cockpit and trying to make out what he's howling, the smuggler withdraws further to be in a better position to hightail it up the ramp of his own ship if need by. Keeping an eye on the pending conflict, he simple murmurs into his comlink. 4500 COORD A1: Well, glad to see you where you are, Orson. Did Simon say what his expectation of us is at all? 4500 COORD A6: *pause* They kind of got strange when they ... felt him show up. I started to leave. I even closed the ramp and they made a run for it. I guess they don't want help. 4500 COORD A1: I guess this is a personal thing. Let's keep an eye out for helping, but nothing overt if we can help it. There's no question of deception here. 4500 COORD A6: Affirmative. But I'm leaving if anyone starts cutting ships. In the meantime ... *Orson pauses and waits until he has Karrde's attention in the cockpit. He holds up the recording pistol and grins inanely* I've got something to take care of. 4500 COORD A1: *short laugh* Good thinking. Don't be too quick to leave unless your safety in the ship is threatened. Right now, I'm worried about lives before property, and don't want to look like we're fleeing. My faith in Jedi to actually kill each other is low from what I've seen, so we don't need to make more enemies here. Valak spins quickly to face those ejected from the ship behind him. He crouches to a ready position himself, even though it has been years since he used the tool of the Jedi. It was their own tool that he enjoyed slaying them with the best. He reaches out with that unseen hand once more and snatches Simon's LightStaff from him, sending it soaring through the air. Then scattering across the hangar bay before coming to a stop safely behind him somewhere. "I'm here for the Jedi," and he lunges out at Jessalyn, light sword held high. Simon's lightstaff was a composite of two constructions. The silver half had been the end result of the three week ritual that signified the completion of his apprenticeship as a Selas. In a deep meditation, his hands had worked by the guidance of the True Source to shape metal and stone into the weapon of a warrior. The black haft had been a part of a different ritual, yet no less signficant. He had taken parts given him by Cort Stasus to shape a weapon that reflected his spirit, with scrollwork that depicted a wolf's head at the business end. In the blink of an eye, this piece of work is ripped from Simon's hands, despite his training, despite his own strength. Gritting his teeth, Simon moves into action himself. His hands and feet were weapons themselves, and likely, they would be removed from his body with the same ease that the lightstaff had been removed. From the sound of his bellowed battlecry as he lunges to meet Valak, it sounds as if it is a small price to pay to protect the Jedi, Jessalyn Valios. Already in a defensive posture, Jessalyn stands her ground, straightening as the bright green blade flares to life in her hands, crashing with a million sparks when Valak's sword makes contact with it. She hears Simon's cry as he comes lunging to protect her, and she grits her teeth, flashing him a look as she pushes the lightsaber blade hard against the Emperor's. But she doesn't have time to spare for him, putting all her concentration into parrying Valak's blow. "You're not going to take me this time," she says between clenched teeth, an oddly fierce look in her eyes. 4500 COORD A6: *click* Wow! Did you see that? The Emperor's mastery at manipulation of the Force is applied once more as he bends it to his will. This time the target is the suicidal rogue force user. Valak handles the unseen force around Simon and uses it to send him hurdling across the bay back the way he came. Before Simon lands, Valak's lightsword is engaged with Jesslayn's. Not the first time these two have faced off, but the first time in a long time, "...I don't know why your boyfriend keeps disappearing and reappearing, but I don't intend to wait around. I should have followed my student's advice and killed you when I had the first two chances. Perhaps this time you won't be so fortunate." 4500 COORD A1: *click* I think after watching him pick the ship up and shake it around, this is going to be rather unimpressive.... oh, that had to hurt. 4500 COORD A6: Ow. Are you sure we shouldn't be helping? *Orson is still filming, but is leaning forward to follow the path of Simon's flight, a concerned look on his features.* 4500 COORD A1: What, and seal our fates by directly going up against Valak on a personal vendetta? Simon's throaty battlecry is cut short as unseen forces pick him up brutally and throw him backwards. The ship he'd been aboard had been tossed around readily, and Simon was considerably smaller than the ship. The amount of force with which he is tossed back would probably be sufficient to kill outright most humans. Perhaps it would be enough to hurt most Jedi. Simon is a Selas, however, and his gifts with the what the Sith and Jedi call The Force lie in body mastery. Letting his body go completely limber and flexible, he strikes the ground and folds completely in half before bouncing and rolling to land on his side. Anger roils within Simon's mind. Seizing the True Source to do his bidding darkly, he reaches in a counter-strike, honing his control to a razor point, targetted for the Emperor's throat. If it was someone not tied to the True Source, it would be a killing blow. 4500 COORD A1: I can't help but notice that Simon is having a rough time of it, Orson. 4500 COORD A6: Orson nods from the cockpit. "Yeah, I know," he speaks into his fist. "It wouldn't be a personal vendetta," he adds after a long moment, resetting himself in the cockpit for a new angle. 4500 COORD A1: Karrde has that silence, with the conflict making a nice background noise, of thought. Then, "This would be picking a side in a major way, Orson, if we helped. Trying to think of a low risk way." Fighting to control her anger as the Emperor sends Simon hurtling through the air, Jessalyn's relief is almost palpable when she senses that the Selas is unharmed. But the Darkness gathering from him, though not unexpected, is met with alarm. She gives one final push of her blade against Valak's, then darts quickly backward, watching his reaction as she holds the saber defensively in front of her. "This is not about Skywalker. This is about you and me," she hisses, surprised at her own bitterness, recalling the years stolen from her because of this evil being. Valak's eyes widen just slightly when the brush of Simon's own Force essence passes over his throat. The gesture is almost unnoticed between the lightsabers. It's a trick that Valak is more than familiar with. In fact, it almost makes him laugh...if not for the Jedi-killing task at hand. He lets Simon's attempt go simply ignored for the time being. "This is about ridding the universe of your plague. The plague he's given you," he says as his saber slips down and he steps over with it, swinging it around full circle, and bringing it down by his side. "You and me? There is no you and me. I gave you your chance at greatness and you stood on the threshold of unseen power. Now you haven't been free for very long, but it does not matter, soon you will be dead." Despair. Fear. Rage. Hard, bone-chilling emotions overwhelm Simon, sending his blood boiling through his veins like molten metal, chilling his bones cold enough to near shattering. The emotion floods him, but his focus remains steady. His emotions and the physical pain from his landing on the hard floor might as well be happening to another person. Strength is found in the darkness, and Valak's words give him purpose. Pulse hammers, Hydro-spanners, wrenchs, ratchets, and half a dozen other tools lying around or posted on tool trays take flight as Simon reaches out for anything he can hurl at the Emperor. There is little chance any of the odd bits of metal will actually strike Valak, but perhaps the distraction can buy Jessalyn more time. Or maybe even give her an opening. 4500 COORD A6: Orson works at the console. He's no longer in preflight, and is actively bringing the ship to life. "I know you won't agree with this." Karrde, lurking about the fringes under his ship, has been watching the conflict with some gravity. His comlink chatters on, with him answering, and there's some disagreement. The smuggler chief casts a glace at the Uwannabuyim's cockpit, looking exasperated briefly, before thumbing his comlink to a new frequency and speaking. The Wild Karrde, looming above him, answers with a meaningful click and whirr, as a panel slides open in the battered hull to allow what looks to be a heavy ion cannon nose out and begin exploring things like aim. In Valak's direction. "You're wrong, again," Jessalyn says calmly, letting her own lightsaber fall to her side in a similar fashion, and taking several large steps backward as the hair on the back of her neck stands up -- sensing the power gathering around Simon as bits of debris begin to fly through the air. "With all your powers, Valak, you'll never destroy the Jedi." Orson presses his hands to the glass periodically, shifting his attention from the console to the battle scene outside with frantic jerks. The ship continues to power up, the high-pitched growl from her engines drowning out all but the most determined conversation on the hangar bay floor. He chunks his bulky pistol on the console and falls back into the cockpit, disappearing. But not for long. He's quickly visible again as the _Uwannabuyim_ lurches off of the hangar floor and angles its nose at the ground. The ship swivels and banks again as it hovers, narrow, jagged maw opening and presenting an angled ledge for the hard-pressed allies to make a break for it. Orson struggles with the controls, keeping the deceptively powerful ship in place. Not only that, but he struggles with the consequences of this. Of going against the Empire and worse, against Karrde. The miscellaneous tools and projectiles take most of Simon's attention, with sweat beading on his forehead from the effort of handling so many items with so much ferocity. Gritting his teeth once more, Simon coils himself physically, then extends his feet rapidly to propell himself up and into a standing position. He reaches with his right hand toward his now extenguished lightstaff, stretching his ability even further. His rage gives him power, and the weapon takes flight, moving smoothly in the direction of his outstretched hand. His eyes remain on Valak and Jessalyn as they stand across from each other. Ja'red sees the developing situation and decides that discression, and better cover is needed. He moves from under the Korriban, and into it. True to purpose, the cannon begins spitting excruciatingly bright rocks of energy. This is not something that should take place in an enclosed space, and certainly not at someone like the Emperor. The charge buildup in the room sets hairs on end, and the lights flicker and dim with the discharges as varioous hiding beings give shouts from the air disruption. Valak takes the first ion bolt, the bluish energy is absorbed quickly by his enraged state and ready form. The electricty evaporates through his flesh. But the distraction is enough, the first of Simon's projectiles catches in the forehead sending him staggering back whole another strikes him before his lightsaber is up and deflecting them. A stream of blood begins to run down his face as the next ion bolt strikes. Weakened, he collapses this time. The effects will only be brief, as blue electrical lighting bolts are already lancing from his fingertips to lance at various random locations in the bay, the localized lighting storm is brief...but enough. A third ion pulse slows him more. He lay writhing on the floor as a few people scattered in hiding spots throughout the bay rush to whisk him onto his ship, covered by the source of unseen gunfire from within the ship. The energy from the ion beam sends Jessalyn diving for cover, the light painful to her eyes as she tries to shield her face. But then she quickly assesses the situation, sparing a look at Simon, her eyes filled with fear as well as relief. As the Uwannabuyim lifts off, maneuvering within range, she extinguishes her lightsaber and takes off running, propelling herself up into the air and grabbing onto the edge of the extended ramp with both hands. She dangles there for a few moments before getting enough leverage to swing her long legs up onto the ramp, then lays there, panting for breath. "Come on!" she shouts at her Selas companion. Karrde, monitoring his crewmember's firing from the ground, croaches as the effort actually goes off. The impact of his decision will settle in later, after the view of the Emperor staggering and falling under material and energy barrage starts registering on his mind. Flicking a look to Simon and Jess, he ducks back abit as conventional blaster firing starts up. Comlink up again, and the ion cannon stops sputtering. Simon's weapon reaches his hand, and relief flashes over him as he feels the tools connect, as he senses the pain Valak feels with each strike of metal and ion blast. Thrown as he had been, Simon was not in any real danger of getting struck by the ion blasts, so he is afforded a moment to look upon the fallen form of the Emperor. Intense anger still fills him, and the impulse to reach out and finish this evil threat is strong. Yet, before he can act on it, everything seems to happen at once as the Emperor's protectors come running to protect their leige. Jessalyn's movement draws Simon's eyes, and it's then that the thunderous sound of the YT-1300 moving registers within Simon's mind. Even as Jessalyn calls out to him, Simon moves. He sprints in the direction of the ship, then vaults into the air, drawing upon the True Source to take him the distance needed to land on the entry ramp. Thank goodness for the other members of the crew. An aft shout is all Orson needs and he sets his jaw, pushing himself back into his seat with his legs. He didn't have time to strap in. At his command, the ramp reverses direction and starts closing, sealing the allies onboard. A rumbling sonic boom rips the hangar bay as Orson guns it. You're not supposed to do that in the middle of an enclosed space. The Uwannabuyim doesn't react instantly, its hovering inertia lagging behind but quickly darting forward. In a snap, the saucer-shaped ship banks and disappears, screaming toward open space. Karrde will remember to thank Orson later for sending his ears ringing, and he staggers a bit before finally doing his hightailing it up the ramp of the Wild Karrde. No, nothing's sunk in yet, he's in The Current Moment mode. 4500 COORD A6: Orson is quiet until the ship clears. "Sorry, Karrde," is all he says. 4500 COORD A1: There is a long silence, before Karrde says, in an even tone that sounds fairly normal, "Cut out to Myrkr, we'll discuss this there." - Uwannabuyim ... When Jessalyn finally gets to her feet, in time to feel the ship lurching as it banks to the side, she finds her knees have turned to water, and her hands are shaking with fear. Wobbling, she forces herself toward the cockpit, and sticks her head in the doorway, leaning heavily against the bulkhead. "Are they following us?" she shouts at Orson, her voice a little harsher and more commanding than she intended. 4500 COORD A6: Orson angles the Uwannabuyim for deep space. "Have your people run Toby's Scanning Module on the hull. Don't want to be tracked." Short and to the point, a lot like the man himself. "Out." Following shortly behind Jessalyn, but with enough distance to show that he's not entering the cockpit with her, Simon limps into the now crowded space and moves toward one of the back chairs. His joints pop and crack as he moves, and as he takes a seat, he leans his head to one side, causing his neck to pop loudly. He says, "I do not sense them following, Jessa. There is much confusion, though." Orson turns with gusto to look behind him. "They won't follow this ship!" he practically yells, angling for deep space, his fingers dancing passionately over the touchscreen of the nav computer. "We're going somewhere safe." He is flushed with excitement and fear himself, bristling with adrenaline but also with frustration. Karrde - would not be happy. As the ship speeds further and further away, and it becomes apparent that they are out of the Emperor's clutches, Jessalyn finally allows herself to relax, her lungs aching from the breath she'd apparently been holding. She sinks into the seat opposite from Simon, turning to look at him with some concern, without thinking stretching out with her senses to gauge whether he is injured as she touches his shoulder. "Are you all right?" Drew brushes past Jessalyn and Simon on her way into the cockpit. She gives them a quick once-over, takes a deep breath, then steps inside to join Orson. Sliding into the copilot seat, she beams him a shaky grin. "That was..." she looks at the controls and does her bit at assisting him with the piloting. Not that he really needs it. "Wow." The Selas rotates the shoulder Jessalyn touches, creating another popping sound. For a moment, it looks sickeningly as if the shoulder had gone in and out of joint. He shakes himself once more, pleasantly without anymore unpleasant sounds before responding to Jessalyn. "I am fine," he says, his tone a touch cold as the remnants of his rage continues to fade. "I am better, knowing that he did not take you, Jessa. I was worried." The Uwannabuyim has been through it before, chased by the Empire, the Griffons, and the Covenant all at once with Orson watching from afar. But that was back when it was in the hands of the New Republic Bounty Hunters. The thought wants to run itself to completion in Orson's mind. That the ship is now in the hands of people who know what they're doing. Not like the New Republic's bounty hunter fiasco. But the thought stalls when Orson considers what he's done. He's not a victim, not by a long shot, but he's been stretched and pressed to do things that simply don't make sense. The interior lights dim in the cockpit and the icy blue light of the Nav Computer screen splashes up into Orson's face. "We'll jump to ... Tatooine first. I want to look the ship over and make sure we're not being tracked. They were there - well, there's no telling how long they were there before the Emperor showed up." He taps at the controls some, and reaches up to rest a hand on the hyperdrive lever, but he pauses and points at the console. "Would you hand me that, Drew?" He points at what appears to be a bulky pistol, resting on the control panel. SF-7266 takes off. Part of her wants to tell Simon how scared she was when she sensed his rage, and the darkness he used to defend them. Not just scared for their physical well-being, but for his own soul. It seems ironic that one so concerned about maintaining the purity of one's spirit would be so easily corrupted by the Dark Side. But Jessalyn only gazes at him with sad eyes, biting off her words, and she pats his shoulder consolingly. "He won't take me again, I promise you that," she murmurs. As Drew enters and takes her seat in the cockpit, she greets her with a wan smile. "That was a little too close." Drew reaches over and picks up the...thing Orson pointed her to. As she hands it to him, she notices what it is and her eyebrows perk up. Now that the adrenaline over pulling off a very dangerous, and very exciting trick is wearing off, the look on her face is rather weary. She studies Orson for a brief moment then looks back at Jessalyn. She tries to smile. Things like: 'Make what we just did worth it' come to mind, along with an 'Are you okay?' Maybe it's better to not say anything. So she smiles, then looks back at the controls. Taking several deep breaths, Simon centers himself. From his toes to the top of his head, he tightens and relaxes each muscle until a complete and perfect calm replaces the dark emotions he'd used to give himself strength. He says, looking carefully at Jessalyn, "I would die before letting you be taken by him, Jessa. This I promise, to you." With a glance to Drew, it's clear that Simon realizes his words are not in alignment with the advice she gave him in regards to winning over Jessa. They can't be drawn back now, and Simon isn't certain he'd want to. "Why Tatooine?" Simon asks Orson, trying to focus on something other than the Emperor or his own complete infatuation with Jessalyn Valios. "It's close," he responds, wrapping his thick paw around the hyperspace controls and eases them back slowly. The ship gurgles from somewhere aft as the sublights wind down and the hyperdrive kicks in. In moments, the raging electric purple texture of hyperspace is wrapped about them and Orson turns, fiddling with his gun. He deftly withdraws a long cylinder from it - where the power pack would go - and slaps it into the console on the far side. "We'll only stay a few minutes. It won't take long to look over the ship, I know it well." Instead of sophisticated scans, the mechanic instead relies on his eyes. And his intuition. When you -know- a ship, you can tell if it's been tampered with. He looks back to the pair. Drew, he didn't have to worry about. She was stable, loyal, and, from what he could tell, would have probably done the same thing to help the Force users that Orson himself had done. Her support when they met with Karrde - now that would be something entirely different. Simon and Jessalyn seemed battle weary. He'd seen that before, though had never witnessed a battle quite like that one. Almost as impressive as the power this Emperor wielded was the steadfastness displayed by Simon and Jessalyn. In the face of overwhelming power, they still fought. "We're going to a safer place after that. Even the Emperor won't find you where we're going." He reaches over and withdraws the cylinder from the console, waving it at Simon with a strange grin. "That's what I'm afraid of," Jessalyn mutters toward Simon, not knowing if he hears her or not. She tries to relax as Orson explains their destination, but her hands move restlessly in her lap, and it's all she can do to keep from standing and pacing, despite her exhaustion. Trying on a crooked smile, she notes, "It looked like you got a good shot at the Emperor back there. Nice going. Maybe he'll even be out of commission for a little while." She pauses, smiling more widely now. "It might not be a bad idea for the rest of the galaxy to know he can be vulnerable sometimes...." Simon looks at Jessalyn, giving her words some thought. "How would the rest of the galaxy come to know of what just happened, Jessa?" he asks after a moment, his eyebrows raised. "I think we need to be like rabbits and hole away. The wolf did not catch us this time, which is not to say that he will not continue hunting." What Drew thinks about the incident is a mystery at the moment. Once they're in hyperspace, she leans back in the copilot chair and swivels it, so that Orson, and Simon and Jessalyn are in view. A hand goes up to rub the bridge of her nose, and she closes her eyes. She smiles, "You know, all this time, I haven't seen the place yet Orson?" Orson turns the cylinder and shows it to Jessalyn, still smiling, as if she can understand what he's thinking. He would assume they all know what a custom built recording device would look like. "Check this out," he murmurs, taking the rod and putting it back in the handle of his gun. He lifts it and shoots, clicking the trigger a few times, aiming at his cupped hand. There ... it's so blurry, has no sound, but the distinct, distant lines of lightsabers flashing in sickening three-dimensions play out on his hand. "I got the whole thing. I think the angle at the beginning is off a little, but when I put this on a real replay system the quality will be enjoyable. If that's the appropriate word." He continues watching it, turning his hand to the group in succession to show the miniature battle. He starts talking at his hand, but is conversing with Drew. "There's not much to see. I spent a lot of time there a month or two ago. But it's isolated, and safe. We'll have some badly needed time to sort all this out." Jessa's brows raise fractionally as she watches the tiny projection of the battle playing out in Orson's hand. She gestures for Simon's benefit. "See, Orson knew what I was thinking. I'm sure the media would love to get their hands on something like that." Apprehensively, Simon watches Orson's recording. He'd seen something like that once before, when Markus had still been his student. It was disconcerting seeing a likeness of himself moving about on Orson's palm. He twists his eyes away from the images and looks at Jessalyn, saying, "I do not know for certain, but I believe that if we were to send that to anyone, it would be like leaving footprints in soft mud. Easy tracks back to us. Should we not be quiet and still as statues?" He looks at Drew and continues, "Is it not better to be subtle than to be heavy handed?" Drew studies the images of the Jedi on Orson's hand, then looks back at the two as they speak. Simon, in particular. "The most important hand the Jedi have to play in this is symbolic." She adds quickly, before she can be misunderstood too much. "If /you/ aren't seen standing up against Valak and kicking his damned omnipotent arse then, who will?" Narrow Escape